The Black North

by Nigel McDowell

  Meanwhile, Merrigutt and the statue kept up their fierce bickering –

  ‘If the man who lives in this Big House calls himself any kind of Master, as you say, then he’d be more than willing to receive guests, not just leave them to wander about in his excuse for a garden!’

  ‘Go and get stuffed!’

  ‘Some immature magic has brought you into being, I’m sure, with a tongue like that. Such words!’

  ‘Here’s two more words for you –’

  The statue swore and Merrigutt loosed a furious call, somewhere between bird and old woman.

  Oona kept silent, and waited. Her gaze was drawn again to that snooping-window in the tower. In the darkness behind glass, someone was crouched, but they couldn’t stay hidden. Oona closed her eyes. The Stone warmed her palm, and then a nightmare was emblazoned on her mind –

  Two children, a boy and girl crouching frightened, a cold father standing close then closing something on them, shutting them in somewhere. Trapping them? Hiding them. The children were watching through small spaces – they saw other men arriving to take their father, not with fire or threat like Slopebridge, but here with firm requests, signed papers. And the man, the father, went without protest. The children were left on their own. The screams came later – other men came, in uniform, and the ground beneath the Big House was dug and dug and broken open and things were awoken in the dark that should have stayed sleeping and then sent off into Loftborough and –

  ‘– and you’re not getting in and that’s the end of it!’ said the statue.

  ‘He’s afraid,’ said Oona. She opened her eyes. This time it took long moments – deep breaths – before the nightmare left her at all. But images were still keen to crowd, to show more, and the sound of screaming went on and on and on, tireless echo.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked the statue.

  Oona thought some of the girl’s snappishness had softened.

  ‘He’s afraid of what might come,’ said Oona. ‘Your Master, he’s afraid of the Briar-Witches. Nightmares every night about them coming. He was left alone in the house. He’s hiding, and he’s afraid.’

  Oona looked again to the tower, and what she saw there was a shadow small and fearful. The statue of the girl said nothing.

  ‘We need to see him,’ said Oona. ‘We’re here to help the people in Loftborough. All of them, your Master too.’

  Merrigutt came back to Oona’s shoulder to rest.

  ‘Promise it?’ said the statue of the girl. So different suddenly: demure, almost obedient, like a child full of spite then scolded and trying to make amends. ‘Do you promise you’ll help him and not hurt him? Not like those things underground?’

  ‘Promise,’ said Oona.

  ‘And her,’ said the statue, prodding one stone finger in Merrigutt’s direction. ‘That old one on your shoulder isn’t the politest. What’s she going to do?’

  ‘She’s here to help, too,’ said Oona, before Merrigutt said a thing. ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  A silence.

  Then the statue cleared her stone throat and said in words formal, rehearsed: ‘Very well. In the name of the Master of this Big House, I shall admit you!’ She left her fountain completely in a leap, and with two stone hands took hold of the stone bowl where she’d stood and twisted it like a stubborn wheel. ‘My advice,’ she said, no longer formal, sounding gleeful, ‘is to keep your head down and your arms and legs tucked tight. Also eyes shut and nose pinched.’

  Any asking there might’ve been from Oona of Why? or What do you mean? wasn’t allowed. In the next moment the ground opened wide and Oona fell, Merrigutt clinging hard to her shoulder as the sight of wild garden and Big House and drab sky were left above, the stone girl’s laughter the only thing to accompany as they plummeted into the earth.

  45

  Through plenty of dark and then dropped into more – Oona landed on her backside and stayed there. But Merrigutt stayed in the air, raging, sending echoes so loud and many that Oona thought all the jackdaws that had entered the Kavanagh cottage may as well have been back with her –

  ‘Treacherous blood statue!’ (Like the stone figure in the fountain could hear.) ‘You’ve got some gall but I’ve more! Let me tell you, when I get a hold of you I’ll make rubble out of you!’

  Oona stood. She let her hands explore, checking she was all there and, most important, looking for the Loam Stone – still in her satchel, alongside their little leftover food, and the pistol.

  Her raging in the air nearer done with, Merrigutt arrived on Oona’s shoulder to complain:

  ‘Fool of a statue! But me the bigger fool. Evelyn Merrigutt outwitted by a lump of stone – getting too soft for my own good. Well no more, I tell you. By the Sorrowful Lady, I say no more!’

  ‘Would you be quiet!’ said Oona. ‘Hell’s bells – sounded like my granny before and now you sound like my brother, ranting and raving because someone got the better of you.’

  Merrigutt surely had some retort to offer but hadn’t time for it: instantly there was another loud voice speaking –

  ‘Why have you been admitted here? No one is allowed entry to this house without some show of knowledge. Tell me – why have you come?’

  It was a voice not unlike the statue’s – high, demanding, almost petulant. And proud. Oona couldn’t withhold an image of Morris, his way of standing and speaking when he needed to be listened to, agreed with.

  ‘Do not speak!’ the voice said. ‘I shall pose the questions and you shall merely answer! I am the Master of this house and you shall do as I bid!’

  Definitely a boy speaking, Oona decided.

  ‘Do not tell me why you have arrived!’ the boy said, though still neither Oona nor Merrigutt had attempted a word. ‘I am going to guess …’

  Oona waited.

  Then a loud squeal from the boy of, ‘I have it! Oh, I have it well! You are here because … you want my help!’

  Merrigutt whispered, ‘Quick on the uptake, isn’t he?’

  ‘Silence!’

  So shrill a cry against the ears it made Oona cringe. She tried to see where the boy was standing, or maybe just sense him, but couldn’t: felt as though she wasn’t being allowed.

  And again he announced, ‘Silence! I have not yet finished the full extent of my guessing! True knowledge takes time, don’t you know?’

  A pause from him. Some shallow breathing.

  ‘I also deduce,’ the voice of the boy went on, ‘that you are here because you are on a journey. You have travelled far. And – yes, I know this is quite correct – you intend to keep travelling, to leave here and move on somewhere else. To travel, indeed, to the very edge of everything. Am I right?’

  Oona thought it best to play, to agree: ‘Yes, that’s completely right. Well done, you. You have us all worked out. Now, we’re wondering if –’

  ‘Don’t patronise me!’ said the boy.

  His voice was close, surely just beside, so Oona turned like he might suddenly appear. But then not. His voice shifted between near and further: a shout against her ear, and then like a distant call from across a valley –

  ‘I do not need your flattery!’

  Oona realised she didn’t have a notion where the boy was, or where she was herself. Good thing she had Merrigutt and her knowing.

  ‘Why are you making such a show of things, boy?’ asked the jackdaw. ‘And this trick of darkness and echoes so we can’t see or find you – this is Briar-Witch magic. Why not show yourself without such veils and games?’

  ‘I do not take orders!’ said the boy, but not commanding – more snappy, stroppy. He cried, ‘I am the Master of this house, how dare you venture in and –!’

  Oona spoke up, saying, ‘Look: we only want help! I’m from the county of Drumbroken, South and beyond the Divide, and we don’t play tricks or fool each other where I come from. We say things out straight. And we were told that you’re a child in Loftborough that the Briar-Witches can’t touch, and we’re only here be
cause we want to know why!’

  Some long moments in the dark. There was the sound of shallower breathing, and then the boy said from his undecided somewhere: ‘You think you can defeat these creatures? You think you have that power?’

  ‘I do,’ said Oona. She reached into her satchel, felt for the Loam Stone and held it tight. And could she see him then? A figure standing near? Or an impression? Or perhaps only the vagueness of nightmare.

  Merrigutt whispered, ‘Get as close as you can, my girl. I’ll do the rest.’

  Oona took a small step, then another. And she did see someone – slight and with features too faint. She moved towards the boy, asking as she walked, ‘How have you been able to keep the Witches out? Why haven’t they taken you?’

  Oona heard the boy’s breathing – a rattle, the like you’d hear from someone older. Then some more speech from the boy: ‘No one can defeat the Briar-Witches. Not now they are in the service of the King. And himself? Not any creature to be toyed with. The Echoes – they are everywhere now.’

  Oona stopped. She tried the Loam Stone again, her affinity with it increasing all the time, hoping to squeeze something more, some small knowledge. But it wouldn’t warm, gave her nothing. She found herself asking, ‘You know what causes the Echoes?’

  Sound of a giggle (but more a gurgle).

  The boy said, ‘Causes it? No one even knows what brings it upon a person! It merely exists, without reason or neat rhyme. It merely takes, transforms and destroys. And that’s what makes it so dangerous. Only the King of the North knows what the Echoes are truly composed of, and he is the –’

  ‘Enough!’ cried Merrigutt.

  In one sudden move – the jackdaw left Oona’s shoulder to transform and, as an old woman once more, Merrigutt tossed scarlet into the air. It diffused into the dark like freed and fiery swamp-flies, swirling as the Master of the Big House screamed, ‘No! Stop it!’ Oona’s hearing sizzled and the air shuddered, the scattering of scarlet crowding into bright shivers, silent lightning strokes. Moments, and then the entire dark deserted them in a rush, flung back and fleeing into corners where it skulked, only small scraps.

  It was fortunate that Oona found a wall for support – her senses felt singed, dazed.

  ‘Apologies,’ said Merrigutt, and she stood with one hand to the wall too, looking older than ever. But she was unwilling to show herself in such frail form – only a moment and Merrigutt was battling to become her jackdaw self. She managed it, and settled again on Oona’s shoulder.

  ‘Powerful magic,’ said Merrigutt. She sighed. ‘Took it out of me a bit there. Contrary child.’

  ‘Why? Why did you have to do that?’ The voice of the boy.

  Oona looked down and at last settled her sight on the Master of this Big House. He’d been reduced to kneeling, had both hands over his face. He was whimpering, ‘Why did you have to do that? Why be so cruel?’

  ‘Why were you using Briar-Witch magic?’ asked Merrigutt.

  ‘Wasn’t using it,’ said the boy.

  ‘He’s telling the truth,’ said Oona, knowledge spreading not from any nightmare, but from experience. ‘It was a dispell – the Witches made the garden into that state and got rid of all ways into the house too, all doors and windows, all light kept out. They couldn’t take him so they wanted to make it a hell to live here.’

  ‘Why so worried about being seen, though?’ asked Merrigutt.

  A moment more, and they had their answers – as his hands slid from his face, Oona saw why the boy had been much happier in his dark, more content in concealment, why he would have done everything to remain hidden from the world.

  46

  Only half as high as me, if even that, thought Oona. And age? Could be any. Fifteen, sixteen, or five or six or seven … or seven hundred! All pointless guessing. The boy was split, body telling two stories, neither pleasant: his right side was a ruin of wrinkles and burst blood-vessel and blood-shot eye, and his left was more ruin – taken over by cracked stone, lichen-scabbed, chipped at the cheek.

  ‘Like that statue outside,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Powerful magic. Nasty. A dispelling of flesh itself. Wouldn’t wish it on a worst enemy.’

  At this, the Master of the Big House cried, ‘I didn’t want to be seen so how dare you remove the dark! I can see the shame in your eyes, the two of you – the judgement as you look upon me! How dare you!’

  He’d been so devastated, on his knees weeping, but suddenly the boy was up and standing proud, trying to arrange himself. His white-gloved hands rushed all over, along clothes faded and ripped and worn out, all of them old-fashioned: a jacket of grubby velvet, yellowed shirt with a collar that climbed high on his throat and was buttoned to just beneath his chin, and velvet trousers that stopped shy of the knee, socks tight over the shins. His tiny feet were bundled into tiny, infant-sized shoes.

  Oona didn’t know what to think. Like the houses of Loftborough, she’d never seen or imagined the like of him in her life.

  ‘I am an oddness to you,’ said the boy, lifting his head and trying – impossible task, him being so small – to look down on Oona. ‘No need to tell me. But all things are odd to eyes so used to seeing only the normal and dull things.’ Any words he spoke had to squirm free from the still-human side of his face. ‘I may not have magic,’ he continued, raising one gloved finger, ‘but I assure you, I have such power at my command that I could make of you little more than dust if I wanted!’

  ‘You’ve nothing,’ said Merrigutt.

  ‘I have the dark of this house!’ he told them.

  ‘Darkness isn’t much of a power,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Happens every night in this world without need of magic.’

  The boy’s eyes widened, looking ready for renewed weeping, all other features on his divided face shifting aside to accommodate grief. Through sobs he said, ‘You come here and bully myself and my sister. You come here unannounced and try to coerce me into helping you.’

  Then Oona was revisited, for a blink, by the nightmare the Loam Stone had given her: two children, brother and sister, frightened. ‘Twins,’ she said. ‘It’s your twin sister, the statue in the garden.’

  But the boy wasn’t listening –

  ‘I won’t be forced to leave this house!’ he shouted, and Oona saw that like his stone sister his mood could shift in seconds. ‘They took my father, drove him out, but I will stay and protect this Manor against all-comers! Whatever Witch or Wolf or Giant or any creature that attempts to take it, I shall see them off! It is what our father would have wished!’

  ‘Fool,’ said Merrigutt. ‘I’d have left this house long ago and to hell with what your father would’ve wanted.’

  ‘That’s because you have no home you care for,’ said the boy.

  Oona waited for Merrigutt’s response, but the jackdaw said nothing.

  ‘This is my home,’ said the boy, ‘and no one is going to take it! Not those men in uniform, nor those things underground, nor either the –’

  Oona said, ‘The Briar-Witches – they have a nest beneath this house?’

  ‘They do,’ said the boy. Some pause, then he went on with, ‘Such foul things. That’s my opinion. Did you not heed the sign – Beware that black beneath your feet!’

  ‘You wrote that?’ said Oona.

  ‘Of course,’ said the boy. ‘Not in person, but I have duties as the Master of the Big House.’

  ‘You mean you were sending that statue to do your dirty work?’ said Merrigutt. ‘I’m starting to have some sympathy with her.’

  The boy folded his arms and scowled as well as his statue sister could.

  ‘Oona,’ Merrigutt whispered. ‘We need to keep moving. This is no task for us. And anyway, I thought this little quest was all in aid of finding your brother?’

  ‘It is,’ said Oona, and she didn’t bother to whisper her words. ‘And he was taken by those Witches, and so were all these other children, all from this town.’

  ‘So now we’re setting out to save the world from
any evil we come across?’ said Merrigutt.

  ‘If you’re interested,’ said the boy, ‘the answer is yes: I believe there is a way to defeat these creatures, to banish them back to the ground for good. I have been watching them most closely.’

  ‘How?’ asked Oona. Then felt she should add (for Merrigutt’s benefit), ‘How can we trust you? And don’t even think of lying to us or you’ll not live long enough to regret it.’

  ‘I am affronted!’ said he. ‘I have never lied in my life!’

  ‘People who say things like that are the ones who lie the most,’ said Merrigutt.

  ‘I shall tell you such things,’ said the boy of the Big House. ‘Such secrets, such revelations! Such discoveries that only I have –’

  Oona sighed and shut her eyes. In her mind, as vivid as those nightmares she was becoming accustomed to, she saw Morris – watched him dragged down, disappearing into the dark with his small stubborn hands still around their grandfather’s gun.

  ‘– and such observations I have made! Watching as –’

  Oona opened her eyes and told the boy, ‘Quiet! If you do know, if you are telling the truth, then don’t just tell: I want you to show us.’

  47

  They rose through the dispell, through enforced dark, climbing high along the Big House’s creaking innards in criss-cross and clamber and crawl. The staircases and (where staircases had given up) ladders and boards that took them were all as rotten as walls around and hill beneath. And only enough light was admitted through cracks to get a sense of things, not properly see. Oona passed places where windows might’ve once opened to let the world in – a rough puckering, a cinching in tight like shut and sewn mouths. She had to go carefully, slowly, and she didn’t like it. Hated having to stop at gaps – or better described: gapes – and hop or leap, reaching and grabbing and taking splinters for her effort.

  Of course, the Master of the Big House himself went on without trouble. He even had time to pause and straighten portraits on the walls, or wipe a surface with a gloved finger and tut-tut and tsk at the state of the place, but then move on in a hurry. He was half-ancient and half-stone, but he was well-practised, long-accustomed. Oona thought: his house, his dark, and he knows well how to find his own way through it. Merrigutt stayed on Oona’s shoulder, this time not leaving to fly on ahead and see or check. Oona was grateful.